Status: Updated on random occasions
Invictus
Blunder
Less than forty-eight hours later, I found myself swimming in a boatyard in a rather ritzy district of Miami. I felt completely unprepared for this mission which was thrust upon me the moment I stepped back onto American soil. The mission wasn't even clear. Stop the boat from leaving the harbor. Don't let anyone escape. They told me. I had never failed to complete a mission but I had planning time and a clear, detailed task. And it wasn't my job to babysit boats. That was the Coast Guard's job. The United States Federal Government did not pay my high salary so I could deal with things on American soil. That was the FBI's job.
The boat in question wasn't exactly a boat. It was a hundred foot yacht with multiple floors. From the water, which was where I was still floating, it looked like a mini Titanic. Eventually, I was able to pull myself up onto a lower deck, which was empty of people. My short brown hair stuck to my head as excess water dripped onto the wooden floor. I shook my body, imitating a wet dog, before I removed a gun from the holster on my hip.
Guns were the crutch I leaned on probably way too much. My five foot five inch body was stronger than it looked. Over the course of my career, I had practically mastered the art of hand-to-hand combat but guns were my forte. And that wasn't ever a product of my mutation. The long sleeves and gloves were, however, a product of my mutation.
Before I had gone five feet, the water in the distance erupted in chaos. A large spotlight lit up the yacht and the majority of the harbor. I could make out about eight speed boat carrying what I presumed to be Navy SEALs plowing though the waves towards the yacht. A voice flowed though the air from the large military ship. "This is the United States' Coast Guard. You are under asset. Do not attempt to flea."
"Sonofabitch." I said rather loudly under my breath. The CIA can't do anything right anymore. My distraction proved lethal from me. While I was still cursing my employer someone took a rather heavy, blunt object and hit me over the head with it.
The boat in question wasn't exactly a boat. It was a hundred foot yacht with multiple floors. From the water, which was where I was still floating, it looked like a mini Titanic. Eventually, I was able to pull myself up onto a lower deck, which was empty of people. My short brown hair stuck to my head as excess water dripped onto the wooden floor. I shook my body, imitating a wet dog, before I removed a gun from the holster on my hip.
Guns were the crutch I leaned on probably way too much. My five foot five inch body was stronger than it looked. Over the course of my career, I had practically mastered the art of hand-to-hand combat but guns were my forte. And that wasn't ever a product of my mutation. The long sleeves and gloves were, however, a product of my mutation.
Before I had gone five feet, the water in the distance erupted in chaos. A large spotlight lit up the yacht and the majority of the harbor. I could make out about eight speed boat carrying what I presumed to be Navy SEALs plowing though the waves towards the yacht. A voice flowed though the air from the large military ship. "This is the United States' Coast Guard. You are under asset. Do not attempt to flea."
"Sonofabitch." I said rather loudly under my breath. The CIA can't do anything right anymore. My distraction proved lethal from me. While I was still cursing my employer someone took a rather heavy, blunt object and hit me over the head with it.